


Shiver

by bearonthecouch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 09:26:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11756883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearonthecouch/pseuds/bearonthecouch
Summary: Cullen and Abby Trevelyan skip a meeting in favor of a quiet moment alone.





	Shiver

Snowflakes fall gently and silently in the deepening twilight. Abby Trevelyan sits on the steps leading up to the Great Hall of Skyhold, shivering slightly in the winter chill. Below her, in the courtyards that sprawl up against the main gate, people shout at one another, mostly with good-natured cheer. Salesmen conduct business and messengers wearing Inquisition sigils run through the knots of people standing around. For once, no one seems to be looking for Abby, needing her. It feels good to be alone again, just for a minute.

She tilts her head back and lets the snow fall onto her face, into her eyelashes. She can feel the flakes melting as they come into contact with the warmth of her skin. Her breath puffs out into the air, blowing away more of the snow. She takes in a deep, careful breath, then blows it out. She opens her eyes, slowly. She can feel her mana stirring inside of her as she sits out here in the freezing cold. Her skin is flushed red, and a lazy smile spreads across her face. This is her domain, and she has missed it.

The tromping of booted feet intrudes upon her solitude, and she spins around quickly, her smile instantly replaced by a frown. The mana she been letting wash through her comes to the surface now, to hands ready to lash out. The templar hovers above her, his eyes bright and fierce. He looks down at her, looking somewhat startled.

“Mistress Trevelyan. What are you doing out here?”

“I like it out here,” she says simply. And then, after a moment, “Care to join me?”

Cullen rubs his hands together, then blows into them in an attempt to keep them warm. “It's freezing,” he points out. His bear-pelt coat will keep him warm enough, but Abby is wearing only a few thin layers of cloth. Yet she barely seems to notice the cold.

“Sit down,” the Inquisitor demands. Cullen sits. The hard stone steps offer little comfort, and less now that the new-falling snow is beginning to stick to their surface. There is little point in complaining, though. Abigail Trevelyan studies him, and Cullen feels a shiver running through him that has nothing to do with the weather. Her bright blue eyes look right into his own, and he suddenly feels desperately inadequate. He squirms out of his coat and drapes it over her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asks. She sounds offended.

“It's cold out here,” he says, again.

She only smiles. Cullen is about to say something else, but then Trevelyan rubs her hands together, gleefully, like a child. And then her brow furrows in concentration, and Cullen can feel the spark of mana coursing through her. He bites his tongue as she casts a difficult, delicate spell. It's a physical effort not to ask her what she's doing, as the long seconds slowly pass until she opens her hands.

“Look,” she says softly.

Cullen looks down. Her palms and fingers are coated with frost. It sparkles in the light of the torches hanging high above their heads. Delicate crystals of ice form and re-form in response to Trevelyan's silent commands. These snowflakes in her hands... she made them. Cullen realizes that he has been holding his breath.

“This is what I do,” Abigail Trevelyan says. “Magic... my magic... it's never been about war.”

“It's beautiful,” Cullen breathes, and for a moment he isn't sure if he's talking about the magic, or about her. Abby nods, smiling up at him from inside his coat.

“Were you looking for me?” she asks vaguely. Like she doesn't care if he was or wasn't. Cullen knows better. Abby never bothers to ask a question unless she's stubbornly interested in the answer. He smiles sheepishly in response to her piercing stare.

“Oh, um... there's a meeting. It's not important.”

“Cullen.” There is accusation in her tone. She crosses her arms over her chest, staring him down. He knows she thinks he's keeping some sort of critical information from her, but the truth is simply that he doesn't want to lose her to the circling vultures inside the war room, not yet.

He reaches out to take her hand. “The rest of them can wait,” he insists, hoping she'll believe him.

Abby takes a long time to reply, but eventually she nods. “Alright.”

Cullen wraps his arms around her. “I've missed you,” he says, into her ear. Abby shivers, and Cullen knows it's not because she's cold. He's never seen her concede to the weather; he's not even certain she feels it. “Skyhold's been lonely without you.”

She turns around, stands up on tiptoe so that she can reach up to place her thumb along his cheek, guiding his mouth down to hers, so that they can kiss. Cullen presses his lips to hers; they're slightly chapped, but full and sweet all the same. He breathes in the warmth of her, and draws her closer against his body. His fingers tangle into her honey-colored curls. Words can't quite justify how much he's missed her.

“Cullen,” Abby inquires, when they've broken for air. “Are you alright?” He's about to tell her he's fine, but she's taken his hand in hers, and it's trembling. He almost snatches it away, but he forces himself to take a deep, calming breath. He _is_ fine. “Maybe we should go inside?” Abby suggests.

Cullen shakes his head. “Let's stay outside.” 

Abby nods, but she still won't stop giving him that look of deep concern. “You  _are_ alright, aren't you?”

“I've missed you,” he repeats, as though that explains everything. He isn't quite sure how to get into it, how to tell her that while she's been away fighting the demons falling from the sky, he's had his own battles. The nightmares have been almost unbearable; he feels like he hasn't slept in days. 

“Cullen,” Abby breathes. Her fingers trace up his arm, and she looks deep into his eyes, studying them for signs of deception. But aside from a slight redness, there is nothing there to see. “I want to help you,” she demands. Cullen just shrugs. What is there that she can help with? It was his decision to stop taking lyrium, and it's a decision he won't undo. He can live with the consequences. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin as he feels the touch of her mana across his arm, like static electricity jolting from every touch of her fingertips. “What are you  _doing_ ?” he growls.

“Shh,” Abby soothes. Cullen swallows hard. This times the fingertips tracing up his arm feel like ice. Blue light glows from Abby's hands. He looks down. His arm has stopped shaking. His head has stopped pounding with pain. 

“Are you-” he starts, but Abby puts a finger to his lips. 

“I told you,” she insists. “My magic has never been about war.” She kisses him again, and Cullen feels suddenly brand new. He hadn't known Abby even knew any healing spells. 

“Do you think we ought to go in to that meeting?” he asks, casting a glance inside. 

Abby shakes her head. “It's like you said, Cullen. They can wait.”

 


End file.
